The Hidden Empress Stripping Her Secrets After Divorce novel Chapter 442

The Astor Family Private Estate.

Lydia Langford stood before the full-length mirror, studying her reflection. The woman in the glass wore a pale ivory sundress, the hem cascading elegantly to her ankles. Her hair was loosely pinned back, a few stray locks framing her face, and the tiny beauty mark beneath her eye was barely visible in the warm lighting. She looked like a painting, a ghost of someone else, a shadow preserved through the passage of time.

The maid standing behind her held up a pearl necklace, measuring it against her collarbone. "Miss, would you like to wear this?"

Lydia shook her head, gently pushing the necklace aside. "No need." She took one last look at her reflection, turned on her heel, and walked out of the room.

Down in the living room, Pierre Fontane sat on the sofa, swirling a glass of red wine. Hearing her footsteps on the stairs, he looked up, his gaze sweeping over her from head to toe. He set his glass down, stood up, and approached her. He circled her slowly, his eyes locking onto the tiny beauty mark beneath her eye for a fleeting second.

"Perfect," his voice was a mere whisper, a slow smirk spreading across his lips.

He reached out, pinching her chin to tilt her face up toward the light. As the chandelier's glow hit her skin, his thumb brushed softly against the beauty mark, lingering on her cheekbone. His eyes glazed over slightly, as if staring at a distant memory.

"He will visit the school today." His voice dropped an octave, his thumb sliding away from her cheek to tap her nose playfully with his index finger. "It's your time to shine, my dear."

Lydia stood perfectly still, like a statue.

Pierre took a step back, looking her up and down once more. "Remember what I told you. Innocent, kind, and smile more." He reached out, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his fingertips grazing the shell of her ear. "When you smile, you look exactly like her."

Lydia's eyelashes fluttered. "Who exactly is she?"

Pierre's hand froze mid-air. The warm affection wiped from his face as instantly as if it had been carved off with a blade. His eyes went dead, his stare crashing down on her like a glacier. He took a step forward, closing the distance until she could smell the icy notes of his cologne.

"Do not ask questions you shouldn't ask." His voice was a lethal rumble torn from his throat, every syllable dripping with warning.

Lydia lowered her head and took a half-step back. "Understood."

Pierre stared her down for a few seconds before stepping away, his expression smoothing back into polite indifference. He patted her shoulder like one would comfort a spooked cat. "Go. The car is waiting outside."

Lydia turned and walked toward the exit. Her heels clicked steadily against the marble floor, her pace perfectly measured. At the door, she paused, her hand resting on the handle, but she didn't look back.

"What if he doesn't show up?"

Pierre stood in the center of the living room, the sunlight slicing through the window to illuminate half his face while the rest remained drowning in shadows. His lips curved into a smirk—faint, but profoundly deep.

"He'll show up."